Tylenol
by xrictusemprax
Summary: House takes one too many pills and Chase is left cleaning up his mess.


"Chase?"

The word rung through the still office, cutting the silence open.

"Yeah?" Chase looked up, rubbing his groggy eyes. Quickly, his gaze transferred between House and the clock, which read 2:32 AM.

The older doctor leaned back into his leather chair, allowing an empty space between Chase's inquiry. He kept a hand on his stomach, trying to stifle the internal pain.

"Well?" Chase asked, holding a blood sample from an eight-year-old boy, suffering from an unknown disease, proving to be a puzzle for the two men who sat alone on the floor of the clinic. "What do you want?"

House shrugged his shoulders, toying with his cane in the hand that wasn't trying to warm his aching belly, "Nothing. I just love the way my voice sounds."

Chase scoffed and resumed squinting as he mindlessly gazed at the blood under the microscope. Finally, after he realized it was going nowhere—"Damn it."

"Damn it." House echoed. "Why damn it? It's only blood, after all. Blood you drew this evening."

"No," Chase flashed his boss a dirty look, "You keeping me here until three in the morning isn't helping me or you, House. I'm getting nowhere in this case."

House let a small smirk mist across his lips and he raised an eyebrow coolly. "Well, as much as you like condemning blood to hell, at last you're not suffering from an overdose of ibuprofen." He whistled a tune merrily, smiling at Chase.

"An ibuprofen overdose? Hence to your snide hints all night and your constant rubbing on your stomach?" Chase didn't look mildly amused, bearing in mind that House was unpredictable.

"Very good, Robbie," House looked cynical, "Tomorrow we'll start on shapes and colors!"

Chase sat back comfortably in his chair, stretching his arms and legs. "Ha ha," he slowly and loudly laughed with no mirth, "You're funny, have I told you?"

"You might have mentioned it," House did a flamboyant gesture with his hand. After a moment, he added, "I'm destroying my stomach's lining with all these constant pills. It's about the only thing that I can do right now."

Chase smugly grinned. "Gregory House, depending on heavy doses of Tylenol? Wouldn't this be a first… hey, I've got an idea!" he paused to paint a fake, shocked expression on his mild face, "Let's do an MRI!"

House threw his cane at Chase and the younger man ducked at the last moment. The wooden stick landed with a dull 'clunk' on the floor. "Sharp tongue, young man. Careful, you might just slice your throat open with it and Lord knows we don't need any more… leakages around here."

"I only learn from the best," Chase chuckled, "But really, an MRI just might uncover what's in your head." He joked. "Maybe it's a new cancer… picture it, the headline on tomorrow's paper: 'Gregory House and Robert Chase discover a new form of cancer inducing loss of connections to the real world and a sense of humor no one understands.'"

House did not reply and it took Chase a moment to see the real pain flicker across the dangerous blue eyes. "House, you all right?"

"Yeah," he gasped, clutching his stomach with both hands, "Oh great, now I get to die in this pathetic little office with someone that works for _me_ in the middle of the damn night with no one to find my body till the morning. They might send you in for first-degree murder, Chase. Watch your back," House advised, but the strain on his voice was undeniable.

Chase stood up in worry. He had never heard House sound so seriously in pain. "Listen, mate… if you feel like you're going to be sick—"

"Did you miss the message the first time?" House asked, trying to sound normal, "I got sick so, in your words, hence the snide hints and clutching my stomach all day."

The younger doctor held out his hand and House, looking at it as though it was dirt on the bottom of his shoe, grudgingly took it. "Good man," Chase whispered.

House swore loudly, grasping onto Chase's shoulders. "You moron! Pass me my cane! Do you want to give a feeble, old man two heart attacks?"

Chase stabilized House and he gazed into the bittersweet blue eyes that peered back at him curiously. "Screw your cane. Come on, you can do it," he started to take a few steps, and House, trying to keep his stomach in his body and balance on one leg at the same time, found it hard to keep up.

A minute later and they had reached a bed just outside their office. Chase lowered House into it and the man was breathing heavily. "Told ya you could do it!"

House looked like he was going to reply but within a moment, he cupped his mouth with a hand and made horrible gagging sounds. Chase quickly found a flowerpot, the only thing within a meter's distance and handed it to House, who spewed his sick into it. After a few loud coughs and splattering sounds, he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and handed the sick-filled pot back to Chase.

The doctor took it and chucked it into the garbage can. "Shame," he heard House say, "I always liked the color green."

"No thanks from you, House?" Chase asked, mockingly offended, "I use my brilliant mind to devise a plan that will prevent you from vomiting into your sleeping area of the night and you, the polite and considerate man, don't even have the courtesy to thank me!"

House said nothing, watching Chase as he sat by his bed. "Thank you… Robbie." And at that moment, it seemed as though House was being sincere.

"Don't thank me, it was all I could do from having to clean _that_ up."

"You snob, you just told me to thank you and then it's something I was not supposed to have done. Make up your mind, boy."

Chase held out his hand again. "Coat, please, sir?"

"Why… what are your intentions?" House asked sarcastically, handing over his coat. "My pants next?"

"You're being an idiot," Chase remarked, "I just want to make you comfortable."

House scoffed, "Yeah? Then how about you perform a stomach transplant. Hunt down Wilson, perhaps he's willing to be a donor."

Once more, like so many times, Chase couldn't help but not stifle his laughter. "Work is a show every day because of you." He stood up and made for the door.

House's mouth was opened in shock. "What, no goodnight kiss?"

Chase laughed but House beckoned towards him, propped on his elbows on the bed. He made to lean in to peck his boss' cheek, but House slapped him hard, leaving a blazing red mark on his high cheeks. "You filthy little boy."

"Very funny," Chase uttered darkly and walked towards the door.

"You're not leaving me here…" House looked outraged, "What if I die?"

"Then I'll make sure to inform Foreman and Cameron—maybe they'll remember to bring the chips and soda. I call the job of the balloons and banner, though."

House laughed, "You bastard."

Chase shrugged and flicked off the lights. "Sweet dreams, boss."

**The end.**

(A/N: Now please go review.)


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